


My king, my Alistair

by gldnskn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, And Alistair is king, Bittersweet, But warden wuvs Alistair sm, Fluff, In which both the warden and Alistair live, Inexplicit pining, King Alistair (Dragon Age), M/M, My warden's name is Leo, Post Coronation, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, nothing explicitly romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29651190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gldnskn/pseuds/gldnskn
Summary: The day of the coronation, Warden Leo struggles with the politics of war and finds comfort in his best friend, king Alistair.
Relationships: Alistair/Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 3





	My king, my Alistair

The day of the coronation, everything looks dazzling. Women sing the chant. Children run through the streets of Denerim. Men rejoice with spirits. Everything looks happy, but everything is wrong. A week ago these women, children and men fled their capital. Seven days ago, they prayed that if they were caught, to be killed quickly. They begged to not find familiar faces on dead bodies.

Seven days ago Denerim was at war, so the music and laughter and spirits boarded on offensive—that’s what Leo thought. He won the war, but the sacrifices were terrific. The signs are everywhere if you know where to look. Blood stains fill pavement cracks. Infirmaries are busied with constant influx.

His reprise through this becomes the extraordinary party of people he’s grown to call his friends, the men and women with whom he fought and won with. They survived. Alistair survived. Fergus, his brother, survived. So Leo sings, and Leo laughs, and Leo rejoices

At the end of the day, with the grand hall emptied of bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder, common folk and nobles alike, littered only by stragglers either too important to leave or too drunk to care, Leo catches Alastair’s attention for the first time in hours. Leo Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, and Alistair, freshly crowned King of Ferelden, had been swept into the crowds and away from one another and were powerless to do anything about it. 

Alistair is across the room, and the eye contact holds only for a moment. Encircled by beautiful, gowned women, Alistair looks awkward, as he always is when he stumbles into the center of attention, but he must be feeling the spirits and liquors passed around all night because he accepts them. He stands closer and emotes more openly than either sobriety or embarrassment would ever admit.

These women are beautiful, yes, round lips and sharp eyes, but vulturous. Opportune scavengers, this kind of woman would never engage Alastair beyond, perhaps, an objectifying ogling before the Blight—but now flock to his power and newfound vulnerability in only moments after his coronation. Leo’s life as the second son of the noble Cousland family has familiarized him to this breed of person. 

Jolted by their eye contact, Alastair pulls himself from them, gestures vaguely, smiles a bit and moves towards Leo, arm raised in a wave. 

“My friend, we have not been able to talk all day,” Alistair says, and Leo registers the flush of liquor holding Alistair captive. His cheeks are pink, his eyes unfocused, heavy. Leo for a moment wonders how Alistair recognized him at all and chuckles at the thought, but the man walks well enough. He’ll survive.

“The price of fame, I’m afraid,” Leo says. 

“Fame? Maker, are we famous now? What a wild thought.” Alistair shakes his head slowly, lolls it, then adds, “oh—not for you of course. You being famous isn’t wild. You’re a hero. Someone people can really look up to. But me? Yeah, that’s weird. Weird thought.” He chuckles, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck—one of his quirks shining through the alcohol. Alistair has many, and Leo treasures them all. He counts himself lucky to be able to know them all because they’re so authentically Alistair, and anyone would be lucky to know Alistair. Soon the whole world will know him, though, but they won’t know him like Leo does, and that’s good enough for him. 

“Yes, well, I think that does happen when you become a king,” Leo says. 

“Don’t remind me. Speaking of, I wanted to talk to you—” Alistair is cut off by a hold on his shoulder. The vultures have returned.

“King Alistair, Lili and I were wondering if you may escort us out. It’s so late and dark, and I know a gentleman like yourself would never want any lady to walk home alone.” Her eyes are downturned, her fat, colored lip rolled out in a mock plea.

When Alastair looks from them to Leo, she adds, “if we’re not interrupting anything.”

“Of course not, girls. He’s all yours.” Leo smiles—because that’s what you do with these women and claps Alistair on the shoulder. 

As they drag him away, Alistair looks behind him to Leo, but Leo smiles because that’s what you do to reassure a best friend.

The tone of Alistair’s request was inflected with a steady seriousness. A familiar anxiety rises in Leo. What could have gone wrong already?

While Alastair is away, Leo, to the dismay of the palace servants, helps clean the grand hall, the dining hall and surrounding corridors. They insist he should not do such things, but he is stubborn, so he helps, and they let him. Leo doesn’t know for how long, but it must’ve been a long time because when he is done, no guests remain in the estate. It distracts him from the worry.

He, then, searches for Alistair, and discovering he is not on the main floor, ascends to the palace’s upper levels. He finds him in the king’s sleeping chambers, Alistair’s new chambers. 

The door is ajar. Leo knocks once, then twice. When he knocks a third time without response, he says, “Alistair, are you decent? I’m coming in.” He slides into the room. A candle burns within. Leo discovers Alistair, asleep, on a kingly bed. He’s laying on his stomach, limbs stretched wide, calves hanging off the nearer edge of the mattress. 

Leo smirks as he approaches his king, his warden, his friend, his Alistair. He chuckles when he gets close. Alastair must have collapsed on the bed. His crown lays askew, hanging from his head, his mouth open, a babble of drool edging from his lips and hair laying in infinite directions over his face. 

Leo removes the crown and lays it on the bedside table. He places himself on the edge of the bed, near Alastair’s face, and combs his fingers through Alastair’s messy, blond, surprisingly soft hair. He moves the wild strands aside, admiring Alistair’s unshielded face. His breath is regular. His eyebrows are relaxed. He’s enjoying a sleepless slumber. Good, Leo thinks. For the first time in more than 24 hours, Leo doesn’t feel guilty—about the war, about the Blight, the Loghain loyalists and troubled templars. He doesn’t feel much of anything. He smiles.

It may be inappropriate, but he hovers forward and places a kiss atop his king’s forehead.

Drawn from the serenity of the moment, Leo pulls away as Alistair scrunches his nose. His eyes slit open, and his eyebrows arch, nose crunched. 

“Leo?” 

“Hi, bud. You okay?” Leo asks. Alistair, between the ruffled hair, drool stains and sagged limbs, reveals himself to Leo—vulnerable, honest. Perfect. Would that change now? How different will their relationship be? They are no longer loan wardens struggling against evil. They are now King and Hero. They now battle politics and status quo.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—” Alistair pulls himself up on his elbows and wipes his lips. “What time is it? I just wanted to lay down for a moment.” He cradles his forehead with his hand, pulling himself to the edge of the bed.

Leo chuckles. “Still night. I don’t think you have been asleep long. I just wanted to find you to make sure you made it back okay.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I’m okay. Tired.” He rubs his eyes, accentuating his statement. 

“I bet.” 

“You’re telling me,” Alistair says, scoffing, eyes rolling in comedic effect. “I thought those women would keep me all night.”

Leo hums, then says, “Well, I should be going. You need sleep.” He moves to get up.

“No, wait—I mean, it’s late. Are you planning to go back to your family’s estate?” Alistair asks. 

Leo nods. 

“Then, just stay here for tonight. Considerate it my thanks for checking on me,” Alistair says, smiling.

Leo considers for a moment, but before he may answer, Alistair begins again, “I mean, not here-here.” He gestures to the bed. “You know like in a guestroom. Yeah, because this place is so big. It has to have guest rooms, right? That’s what I meant.”

Leo smiles wide, hoping, as always, to reassure Alistair. “Ok, Al. I’ll stay. I’ll find a guest room, okay? Get some rest now.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Alistair says. He drops his head back to the pillow, but before Leo leaves the room, he adds, “hey, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Alistair. Goodnight, my king.” Leo shuts the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading. I love you all sm!!!!!! Tell me what yall think.


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